


Moonlit Eyes

by memorydd



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, all the vampire akashi floating around thanks to j-world led to this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4777010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorydd/pseuds/memorydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Say, Chihiro,” he leans down and whispers. “Would you like to see my world?”</p>
  <p>A sharp breath is drawn and teeth grinds.</p>
  <p>“I’d rather die.”</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlit Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> i needed to write...at midnight, so have a short vampire verse mayuaka. might write a second part if i feel up to it later cause i do have a slight idea, but lol idk.

“You’ve certainly put up a good fight Chihiro,” Seijuurou says, his hand gripping his right side where an ugly wound festers and stings, drenching his hand with so much red (he has never seen so much of this—his own blood—before). He fights back a wince as pain shoots through his body much like how an arrow is released from its high strung bow when he moves forward. His smile is crooked and strange even though his eyes shine, “This is beyond my expectations.”

When has things ever gone along as expected when it comes to Chihiro? He’s outrun many hunters in his 500 and more years of existence, but so few has elated him, so few has sent his blood pumping so fast that his head feels like it’s about to burst, and so very few has torn through the darkness to catch him at his most vulnerable. He sees them all but the one who appears every few centuries. And in this century it’s Mayuzumi Chihiro.

There is no response and Seijuurou drops on top of his fallen hunter to look him in the face. Those familiar eyes that chased after him for years are glazed over with exhaustion and pain, but he can still see the fire of hatred burning behind the foggy glass. He loves those eyes—loves peering through the looking glass to see all the emotions swimming behind it and loves how he can also feel them pulsing under such skin whenever they make contact.

So warm, so alive, so…human.

And so fragile.

Blood runs down the side of Chihiro’s head and Seijuurou licks it above shivering skin. It’s warm and sweet, so unbearably sweet (he _craves_ it, wants to bite and tear and drink so badly that it’s driving him on the edge of sanity, but _patience_ ). He knows his eyes are glowing an eerie autumn now as he stares into cloudy hues on a face that is twisted into a look of disgust.

Ah, how he does like those eyes.

He cups a cheek with his hand and traces a thumb below one. He’ll soon be staring into deadness and it makes him frown. Seijuurou would never label what he has towards this man an attachment, but…

“Say, Chihiro,” he leans down and whispers. “Would you like to see my world?”

A sharp breath is drawn and teeth grinds.

“I’d rather die.”

Seijuurou draws back and chuckles. “I expected such.” He leans back down again, this time, their noses almost touching. “But would you really?”

_‘I know you,’_ he wants to say. _‘I know you like the old song you like to play on your harmonica.’_

But each time Chihiro plays, it’s unarguably the same song, but never is—there’s always a slight shift in tune, a slight variation according to the mood, place, and time. That is why Seijuurou could never say that he knows the song like the back of his un-aging hand. That is why he could never really say that he knows Chihiro to his core.

( _But isn’t that why we’re here?)_

Those eyes harden to something other than a glare, the fire behind them frozen, and Seijuurou has his answer to this one.

He moves down and his ghosting lips tilts Chihiro’s head back, sending shivers through the other’s body. He smiles against heartbeats.

“Your heart is beating quite fast for a dying man,” he teases. “Is this anticipation? Is this excitement?”

A shaky breath.

 “I hate you.”

 

 

“I know.”

And he bites.

 


End file.
